


The rain falls, and the earth hardens

by MooeyDooey



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooeyDooey/pseuds/MooeyDooey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened, if Ishimaru had not been invited to Hope's Peak Academy. Non-despair AU (for others, not for Ishimaru). The worst possible fate that he could have suffered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The rain falls, and the earth hardens

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! So.... heh. 8''''] Basically, I really like Ishimaru. I love reading into his character, finding out more about his past and what have you. And with my friend, I figured out what /the/ worst possible thing that could happen to him. This fic is canon facts mixed with some helpings of headcanons. [Also! As for relationships! This fic is open ended. You can read it as a tragic romance, a strong friendship, I left it open on purpose!]

Somewhere there is a universe in our sea of endless possibilities that is exactly like our own, only, here is a man who has been dealt a bad card. A terrible fate.

His name is Kiyotaka Ishimaru. He is currently 36 years old. He was born into a well off family who lost their pride and fortune when his grandfather lost his position as prime Minister of Japan due to his corruption. His family was thrown into great debt, but still Ishimaru had hope. He worked hard, sure that one day his hard work would lead him to restore his family’s honor.

For years his attitude aided him greatly. He gained a great reputation for order and conduct. It aided him throughout elementary school, through middle school…

Of course he had heard of Hope’s Peak Academy. Part of him hoped that he might get an invitation, but how could he expect one when they had others to chose from? Idols, sports stars, champions, and /geniuses/. Ishimaru did not get an invitation (little did he know he had been quite close to being chosen, but his spot was instead given to a super high school level Mathmetician). But really, he didn’t mind. He had been wary anyhow, when others brought up the possibility of his invitation. He had, in fact, convinced himself that he wanted nothing to do with a school that /guaranteed/ success. No. He’d work hard for his success. That was the right way.

He tested and studied for other schools. Naturally, he got into the best (After Hope’s Peak Academy). In such a rigorous environment Ishimaru’s technical and mental skills continued to soar, while his social skills were slowly suffocated by masses of books and large crowds of polite but evasive students. But he didn’t mind. Really. He didn’t. One did not need friend to pass tests. He grew to accept that he was an “other”, and that was just fine.

Ishimaru graduated at the top of his class. Again, he was accepted to the best college in Japan. Again, he poured his time into his studies. Now, he tried not to let the resentment get to him any time he heard a name about another Hope’s Peak Academy graduate doing something wonderful in the news or on television or by word of mouth. It didn’t matter. It would take longer but he would get to their level.

(If Ishimaru had indeed been invited to Hope’s Peak Academy, he would have again graduated at the top of his class. More than that though, he would have learned the most important lesson of his life. He would have learned the important act of socialization with peers in his age group. The group of strange but friendly and high energy students would have understood and accepted Ishimaru’s passions. Upon graduation, he’d have built a support group. His charm would have blossomed to full growth at this point. He’d understand how to speak better to people, what conversations one could engage in that weren’t about studies or work. His intelligence combined with his confidence and coy charms would have won many people over very quickly once he graduated college. If he had been invited to Hope’s Peak Academy, Ishimaru would have ended up becoming the youngest Prime Minister that Japan had ever elected into office. He’d live a life surrounded by love, with his close friends they he still kept in constant contact with since their graduation. But Ishimaru had not been invited to Hope’s Peak.)

Ishimaru graduated from college, yes. And he began to work in the political field. He struggled. He worked hard on his own to build up his reputation, but his solo work was not enough. His stern attitude made him quite unpopular and hard to warm up to. He was smart enough to realize when others started to use him as a tool, tried his best to avoid those situations. No matter how hard he fought that, somehow others were always favored before him. The longer this went on, the more the stress got to him. The more his once (loud, but honest and bright) joy and charm slipped away from him. Still he would not give up.

Too little, too late. Ishimaru realized that his co-workers would often socialize and thus build up their popularity amongst one another by going out and drinking together. That’s why at 24 years old, 4 years after such a thing became legal for him, he had his first alcoholic drink (Not that Ishimaru was against drinking, once one was of legal age. He just had not felt drawn towards drinking until he found a constructive meaning behind it).

Ishimaru had his first drink alone in his apartment.

The buzz he felt after the third was stimulating. He was surprised by the sensation he felt from it, the new tingling in his fingers up to his nose. He had another.

Thus began a 12 year decline into crippling depression, alcoholism, and isolation.

It was not a slow decline, nor was it a fast one for him. Instead, it felt more like a blink. Felt more like he had closed his eyes as a young student, just to rest his eyes, and opened them in a world where he was suddenly a hopeless emotionally-drained ghost of his former self. He was no closer to the position of Prime Minister of Japan now than he had been 20 years previous. He worked for low pay, as nothing more than a glorified lackey for a man who had the political agenda that would have made him faint from shock years ago. Barely enough money to make ends meet, to pay off his family’s debt, to pay the medical bills of his mother who had become increasingly ill over the past few years due to overwork.

But that was fine, wasn’t it? After the rain, earth hardens. He was tired, but he would persevere.

When he met Mondo Oowada, it was dark outside. The alley stank of stale and damp garbage from the rain that had recently passed.

Ishimaru was sick. He had tried to stumble out into that alley, tried to make it to a garbage can to release the contents of his stomach. He missed. He wasn’t sure how long he spent kneeling on the ground in his crumpled suit, pants stained with mud now next to a puddle of his own vomit, when he heard that voice rumble out from behind him.

“Oi.”

At first, Ishimaru thought he was going to get mugged again. He turned around and saw the man behind him, and immediately began reaching inside his pants pocket for his wallet. Better to just hand it over without too much of a fuss, get a few punches in the face, then walk home.

The man in front of him looked threatening. He had harsh and sharp eyes. Bleached hair, just on top of his head with a black undercut. His hair was short, gelled back menacingly. He had a short black goatee, just on his chin, barely more than a stubble. The strangest was those eyes…. A bright, piercing blue. With the amount of rings he had on, his jacket with the fur collar, there was no doubt he was some sort of yakuza member.

His eyes were too glazed over and out of focus to notice the confused, slightly pitying glance the other man gave him when he held out his wallet towards him and slurred out a soft “Take it”.

… Sometimes, no matter what lifetime you enter, there are souls that are fated to meet. No matter how heart wrenching their reunions or troublesome their conversations.

Of the 15 students who would have been his classmates at Hope’s Peak Academy, Ishimaru had established eye contact with each and every single one of these students one time in his life. Just a sidelong glance while passing one another on the streets, nothing more.

Of the 15, he had shared a verbal exchange with 6.

3 were only a minimal exchange of words. Just after college, he had been assigned the errand of bringing paperwork from one source to another. From his boss, to Byakuya Togami. He announced that he had the papers Togami needed, handed them over, Togami barely nodded as a reply. 5 years later, Ishimaru had been in a crowd when he noticed someone had dropped their phone. He picked it up, rushed to the person who had dropped it, tapping them on the shoulder to return it. Chihiro Fujisaki smiled, thanked him, then walked off once more. 6 years later, Celestia Ludenburg had been passing by him on the street. He was sick, he was drunk, he had just been robbed and blood gushed out from his broken nose. She shook her head, called him ‘disgusting’. She hesitated, then gave him money to get a cab ride back home before she walked away again.

The three remaining students had extended conversations with Ishimaru. Leon Kuwata’s confrontation had been a loud shouting match on a side street, arguing passionately with one another about some sort of rudeness that had been committed to one of them. Ishimaru didn’t remember the one he had with Makoto Naegi, he had been drunk. He didn’t remember how he had shared his life story with the man in a bar one day, how he had cried and told Naegi that he had kind eyes and a good heart. How Naegi had been uncomfortable but listened anyhow with sincerity, had bought him a glass of water and patted his shoulder.

Then there was Mondo Oowada. The man he would see only a handful of times in his life, but remember for eternity.

The first time they met, Mondo helped him up off of the ground and brought him back in the bar. Ishimaru didn’t understand why the thug hadn’t taken his wallet.

“Why the hell do you keep doing that? It’s like you want people to take your shit or something…. Ugh just, come on. Where do you live?”

The second time they met, Mondo helped him stumble back to his apartment. Mondo Oowada did not normally help random helpless drunkards he met on the street, but there was something about Ishimaru’s stubborn drive and insistence on trying to walk himself home that struck a chord in the other man.

“Hey Moron! So this is what you look like Sober, hah?”

The third time they met was by chance, in a park. Ishimaru had went there on his lunch break. He was surprised by how deceptively hard sounding the other man’s words were, but how comforting his friendly tone and bright grin were in contrast. They sat together and talked (or, Ishimaru tried to. He was not very eloquent or good with words. But the other was not so talkative as well, so it worked just fine). They learned each other’s names. Ishimaru found out that Mondo was a carpenter.

Somehow they exchanged numbers. Somehow, they became friends… if friends was the sort of word one could use for their situation.

The more they talked, the more Ishimaru realized that Mondo was more than just a man. He was an idol, an inspiration. Mondo was the sort of Grecian ideal of what masculinity and honor grew into as it matured that Ishimaru had once idolized in his younger years. It brought back a small spark to his withered soul. Ishimaru no longer had the vocabulary or open hearted nature to express his inner thoughts to the other man though. Ishimaru was too tired.

Mondo, meanwhile, saw that faint shadow of determination in his acquaintance. It’s what made him call to ask Ishimaru if he had a free evening to spend together; it’s what made him curious. But that’s all he had now. It’s hard to establish a strong friendship with the ghost of someone you /would have/ once considered close enough to be like a brother. Just like it’s impossible to tell just how bright the eyes were of a smiling young lady in the broken frame of a dusty fading photograph. 

The bottom line was, Mondo had a passion and fire burning in his soul that Ishimaru could no longer match. The flame of it was alluring but too bright; Ishimaru could only try to look at it for as long as he could before shielding his light deprived eyes away from it.

Besides, they could barely see one another with their schedules. Ishimaru worked often, he worked late. Mondo had his own, closer friends and relationships to keep in contact with.

They were not friends for as long as they would have been, nor as close and trusting of one another as they should have been. But this another universe. Another time, another place. 

For years they go on like this. By the time 4 years are done, they’ve drifted apart. The last time they’ve seen one other or have spoken was one year previous.

One day, it hits him.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru was never going to be prime minister of Japan.

He wasn’t sure what did it. What struck the final blow. Maybe it was the weight of the half empty bottle in his hand, and how he didn’t have the will to stop it from tilting over in his grip and spilling out onto the floor. Maybe it was the reflection he caught in the black window, and how it didn’t even scare him anymore to realize that the scruffy and dirty man with the sunken eyes and hunched out of shape body was /him/. Maybe, there was a timer going from the beginning, and it just happened to run out now.

While he set up the chair, and the rope, he paused for a moment. He had to when a thought snuck up on him and he let out a hollow empty laugh. It echoed in the room. This scared him. He didn’t laugh anymore.

But this had been it. The grudge he held against his grandfather his whole tile; the event that started his own passionate life mission. Don’t be like him, don’t be like him, don’t be like him, don’t end up like /him/.

Yet here he was setting forth to end his life the exact same way his grandfather had. From the afterlife, hs grandfather must have been shaking his head slowly with an exasperated sigh. ‘Not you too, Kiyotaka. Not you too…’. And he remembers when he was a child, when his grandfather was alive, when he would run around the house with the biggest smile on his face he could muster and dashed to the front of the house where he’d find a pair of his grandfather’s shoes and dip his tiny feet into them and know that one day he’d grow up so big he’d fit right into those shoes-

Ishimaru began to empty his pockets. He lined his belongings up neatly on the floor while he knelt on his knees. He made sure each one was laid out carefully, equally. His keys, his wallet his…

His phone.

A thought crossed his mind. Should he call someone? But he had no contacts on his phone unless it was for business. No one but co-workers and…

He dialed the number. He wasn’t sure why, what it would do… but typical Ishimaru, clung to his one hope in his last moment.

One ring. Two Rings. Three, four, five, six…

“Yo, this is Mondo. Uh… yeah. I’m not here, so. You know. Leave me a message or something cause if you don’t I aint calling you back.”

“… Ah.” Ishimaru says. He hangs up. The rest is mechanical.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru hung himself in his bedroom on August 21st.

His body is discovered one week later.

His funeral was a quiet affair. The only guest was his father. His mother was too sick to attend.

Mondo Oowada visits his grave one month later. He frowns, kneels down, putting a hand on the cold slab of stone that indicates Ishimaru’s name. He’s not an eloquent man. He has no way to express how he is sorry, how he feels slightly responsible. How he wishes they could have been closer or met earlier and maybe this wouldn’t have happened. He opens his mouth, meaning to say something. But no words come. He just hangs his head. He quietly says:

“…. Moron…”

It comes out softer, kinder than he meant it to.

He stands up and walks away.

It rains on his grave, and the earth hardens.


End file.
